


Always

by Caligacal



Series: H.O.S.T. [1]
Category: JacksepticeyeRPF, MarkiplierRPF, SeptiplierRPF, Youtube RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Character Death, Darkiplier maybe?, Fighting, Freeform, Gore, M/M, Muchfeels, Oneshot, Regret, split personality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-22 06:01:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11961210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caligacal/pseuds/Caligacal
Summary: In a world where monsters exist, life is tough. Especially if one is a hunter. And being in a relationship with a prodigal hunter, skilled and legendary in what he does, is even tougher.But for Jack, he wouldn't have it any other way. He loves going on hunts with Mark, and it's a thrill to watch him work, even if it is a bit gory and he has to look away most of the time.Although lately, Mark has been acting strange. He's gotten angrier, quicker to kill then ask questions, and moody. He's been acting out of character as well. Drinking, staying out late brawling at bars, hardly ever sleeping. And he's been practically ignoring his partner.And one night, after a night of drinking and fighting, Mark snaps.And the consequences are deadly.





	Always

_How could he do this? I thought he said he could handle it…_

Jack stood waiting, his arms crossed and brow furrowed. Mark was due back any minute now, and from what Felix had just called Jack about, he wasn’t going to be in the best of shape. 

The Irishman let out a breath and looked at the clock. It was a quarter past midnight.

Suddenly, there was a _bang_ , and then the door opened rather fast and abruptly. Jack sighed and glared at said door. 

Mark came stumbling through, leaning heavily on the door. He let out a grunt and straightened, crawling up the door like some crippled old man. The minute he caught sight of Jack, he froze. 

All Jack could do was glare at him. The dark-haired man had been fighting. It was extremely obvious. His knuckles were bloody and bruised, there was a bit of blood, not his, on his jaw, and there were scratches all over his exposed forearms. His black hair was disheveled, and his glasses were nowhere to be seen.

Mark swallowed as he stared wide-eyed at the pissed Irishman. “What are you doing up?”

Jack scoffed. “Really? That’s what you’re going to ask me?”

“Well I was just-”

“No, Mark, enough. I stayed up because I was worried about you. You’re gone all hours of the night, you barely sleep, you hardly eat. And you’ve been fighting like some nasty rabid dog!” Jack sighed and rubbed his temples. “Plus you killed those guys,” he finished quietly. 

Mark flinched, and shot Jack an angry glare. “Killed who?”

“Those guys!” Jack suddenly shouted. “The ones at the bar, that were eyeing me. You went berserk and _killed them_ Mark!”

Instead of denying it, Mark snorted. “So? They deserved it. They were vamps anyway.”

Jack gaped at him in shock. “You didn’t know that until _after_ you attacked them! For all you knew they were humans before they showed their fangs Mark! Would you really kill another human over something silly like that?”

Mark shifted his gaze to the side before letting a bored look come over his face. “Probably.”

The Irishman scoffed in disgust and turned to leave. Mark glanced at his leaving figure before lunging at him and grabbing his wrist. Jack jumped and turned to face him. 

Mark’s grip was tight on his wrist, almost painful. Jack winced and tried to pull away. 

“Ow, Mark let go-”

“Those bastards were staring at you like you were a piece of meat. As vamps they were disgraceful, drooling over you like that.”

“Mark-”

“But yeah, I thought they were human. I knew, I just knew, what kind of disgusting thoughts they were having about you. I couldn’t stand the lust in their eyes. They had this look, this look that said the minute you were alone, they would take you down without a second thought. You were in danger, Jack.”

Jack’s breath caught a little in his throat as he looked into Mark’s eyes. They were so serious and dark, like he truly believed what he was saying.

Yet the Irishman sighed and tried to pull his wrist free again. “No I wasn’t Mark. I could have handled myself, human or vamp. I didn’t need you acting like some knothead with a stick up his ass towards every other guy that so much as looks at me.”

Mark blinked, obviously taken back. Jack bit his lip and shook his head. “I’m sorry Mark, but you’d better find another place to sleep tonight. I don’t think I could stand being the same room with you, much less sleep with you.” He cast his eyes to the side. “If you even sleep anymore.”

With that he yanked his wrist from Mark’s grasp and walked away.

 

Mark stared after him for a moment, before something inside him abruptly snapped. Anger flooded his system, and all he saw was red. His hands balled into fists, and his nostrils flared. 

_‘He’s a threat to you,’_ something within him hissed. This voice was becoming a regular thing, a sort of growing presence within him. Part of Mark feared it, for it told him to do awful things sometimes. Yet another part enjoyed it, love it in fact. It was like a forbidden path, a looming darkness, that enticed him to dwell deeper.

The voice spoke again, this time much more sinister and demanding. _‘End him. He’s nothing more than dead weight. Rid yourself of him so that you can do what we came here to do.’_

Without knowing what was really happening, Mark took a few large strides, closing the gap between him and the retreating Irishman. 

 

Jack sighed and stopped, hearing Mark’s footsteps behind him. “Mark please just leave me-”

Something slammed into the back of his head, and he suddenly found himself stumbling forward. He managed to catch himself on one of the tables and whirled to look at Mark, his eyes wide. 

The older man was standing there, his eyes hidden by his hair. His hands were clenched into fists, and he was breathing hard. Jack gaped at him as he gingerly touched the back of his head. His fingers came back bloody. The Irishman looked around for some sort of weapon or something that could have hit him, but all he saw was Mark and his fists. 

“Did… Did you just hit me?”

Mark said nothing, and walked towards him at a brisk pace. Jack took a hesitant step back, but stood his ground. 

“Mark what are you-”

A fist was suddenly thrown at him, and, not expecting it all, Jack took the full brunt of it. He was partially thrown to the side as the punch connected with his cheek. Jack staggered and immediately cupped his cheek. The taste of blood filled his mouth.

_He… He hit me. Twice._ Jack looked back at Mark with wide, unbelieving eyes. He’d never done that before, not even joked about it when they were sparing. Mark always refused to hit him.

_Why is he doing this?! Surely that conversation wasn't the cause of all this?_

Jack put up his hands as Mark advanced towards him again. He tried to look the man right in the eye, tried to tell him silently to stop this. But Mark just kept coming. There was something wrong with his eyes, they weren’t right. They looked almost black, and empty. Something was wrong. 

_Oh no..._

The Irishman slowly pulled his hunting dagger from its sheath on his belt and pointed it at Mark. His hands were trembling, and he felt like he couldn’t breath.

“I don’t want to hurt you Mark,” Jack said with a serious tone. He took one step back, and waited. 

Mark paused, and tilted his head. His mouth was a firm, straight line, and his brow was slightly furrowed. He was so serious it was scary. 

“I don’t think that will be a problem,” Mark murmured quietly. His tone was deadly. 

Jack opened his mouth to speak. He forgot his words immediately as Mark’s fist suddenly smashed into his face. 

The Irishman reeled backwards, only to have his shirt collar snatched. His head snapped back as he was yanked forward, and then another fist was driven into his nose. He felt the cartilage give, and his nose made an audible _crunch._ Blood gushed forth, and he found himself choking on it.

Mark snarled and grabbed Jack’s shirt and threw him to the side, where he crashed into a bookshelf. The knife was flung from his hands, and it clattered to the floor close to Mark’s feet. A few of the shelf’s planks broke on impact, and Jack fell to the floor, books raining down on him. A few cut him as they fell, and blood ran down his forehead and temples. He coughed and tried to sit up, shoving away a few books and blinking away the blood in his eyes. Jack held up a hand to tell Mark he’d had enough.

“M-Mark stop-”

Mark hauled him to his feet by his shirt and elbowed him across the face. Jack managed to grab hold of Mark’s arms before he could fall, but Mark quickly twisted out of the Irishman’s weak grip and sliced his arms out of the way. Jack swayed from the force, but then he was reeling backwards as Mark punched him again.

He managed to catch himself, and threw a half-hearted punch. Mark easily dodged and delivered two sharp punches to Jack’s stomach. Before Jack could comprehend what was happening next, Mark quickly bent him over and rammed his knee into the Irishman’s stomach three times. 

Jack grimaced and immediately fell into the fetal position once Mark released him. Yet Mark wasn’t done with him. He picked up the Irishman by his shirt collar and flung him across the room with unreal strength. There Jack crashed into a table, which he managed to partly catch himself on. Jack cried out as his ribs took the brunt of the landing, and he was sure a couple were broken from the blow.

He turned to face Mark, leaning heavily on the sturdy oak table. His legs trembled, and blood streamed down his face from his nose, lips, and gashes above his eyes. One of his eyes was already starting to swell. It hurt to breath, and the taste of copper was strong in his mouth. 

Mark advanced slowly towards him, his eyes dark and face set. His boot kicked the knife, and he paused to look down at it. Without a sound he reached down and picked up the blade, then continued towards Jack. He hadn’t even batted an eye this entire time. 

Jack swallowed the blood and saliva in his mouth before trying to speak. 

“M-Mark stop, don’t do this.”

Mark didn’t stop, he kept getting closer. He didn't even blink.

“No, Mark please,” Jack begged as he brought up an arm to shield himself. 

Mark walked right up to him and snatched his shirt, which he used to lift Jack into the air and slam him onto the table’s surface. Jack cried out as he landed on his back against the unforgiving oak. In the blink of an eye Mark was leaning over him, with the knife poised and ready, just above Jack’s chest. 

Jack couldn’t even move. He was too sore, too wounded, too _scared_ , to fight back. All he could do was try and talk Mark out of it while his legs moved weakly in protest. 

“N-No, Mark, stop…” Blood ran from the corner of his mouth, and he coughed. Jack weakly gripped at Mark’s shirt with one hand. 

“M-Mark stop, this isn’t you…please Mark.”

Something in Mark’s face twitched, and the blade in his hand began to tremble. His eyes softened, and the blade dropped a little. Jack let out a small breath and tried to gingerly take the blade from him.

Then Mark’s face suddenly hardened again, and without hesitation, he slammed the dagger down into Jack’s chest, his eyes never leaving Jack’s face. 

 

Jack’s breath hitched as the blade pierced him. His eyes widened, and his mouth fell open in shock. And all he could do was stare into Mark’s brown eyes. Those eyes that used to hold such love for him, such warmth. But now they were cold, and empty. There was no love in there, only darkness, and hatred. 

He cried out as the burning pain consumed him, and he managed to writhe around only for a second before Mark pulled the blade free. Jack gasped at the painful sensation. Mark then plunged the knife in again, and Jack screamed. 

_Mark, no, please, not like this..._

Tears ran freely down his face as he started to choke on his own blood. A soft sob passed between his bloody lips. He could feel even more blood spilling from his chest, and running in warm rivulets from his chest to pool on the table. 

“M-Ma-ark-k,” he managed. Nothing, not a word in response. Mark didn’t even blink. 

“I-I know this isn’t y-you,” Jack continued painfully. “You’ll realize that s-soon enough. J-Just k-know…” He reached up to weakly rest his bloodied hand over Mark’s, the one that held the knife in his chest. “That I forgive you.”

_I really do. This isn’t him, it’s not his fault. He wouldn’t do this._

Mark only blinked, still glaring at him.

Jack bit his lip to keep it from trembling as he felt his conscious fading, and his limbs growing cold. A soft sob escaped him, and he reached up to cup Mark’s face with his free hand.

_I don’t want to die. Not like this, never like this..._

“L-Love you Mar-rk,” he sobbed. “A-Always.”

He lost the feeling in his hand, and it fell back to the table with a _thump_. A shuddering breath escaped him, and his eyes widened as his heart stuttered. 

_No, not yet, please, Mark…!_

And then his eyes fluttered, drooped, and looked straight ahead, past the man leaning over him. 

The man that used to love him so true, so deep, that it could be compared to no other. The man that he still loved with all his now-bleeding heart.

His lips stopped trembling, and his chest stopped heaving. A soft, final sigh passed his lips, and his head rolled to the side.

Jack was gone.

 

Mark blinked, and shook his head. Something in his eyes softened, and he squeezed them shut as a nasty headache immediately set in. 

_‘Open your eyes Mark,’_ the thing inside him hissed. _‘Look upon your glorious handiwork.’_

“What are y-” Mark opened his eyes, and his face immediately drained of its color.

Blood. There was so much. It was pooling on the table, it stained that blue shirt, it covered their hands, it was all over his face, and it was in that glorious green hair of his. 

_No..._

Mark gaped, shock turning his limbs to tingling lumps of ice. Jack’s eyes, those brilliant, beautiful baby blues were dull and dark. His lips were slightly parted and cut, and his usually perfect, pale skin was bruised and bloody. 

With a shuddering breath Mark let his gaze travel from Jack’s face to his chest. Jack’s hand was still covering his own, which was still holding the knife. 

_Oh god..._

Mark desperately wanted to rip his hand away, get rid of the proof that he had just killed his one and only. Yet he couldn't bring himself to do it. Jack's hand was still warm over his, and it seemed like the only thing he had left in the world in that moment. Mark slowly brought his shaky, free hand to gently cup Jack's cooling cheek.

The reality of the whole thing crashed into him when Jack didn't smile at the touch, didn't reach up to hold his hand. Tears formed in his eyes when no lilting remark came from the perfect lips. They spilled over when those blue eyes didn't move to gaze lovingly into his own eyes.

_He’s… He's dead. And I killed him…_

Mark bit his lip to keep it from trembling as more tears ran down his face, mixing with the blood there. A muffled sob escaped him as he lowered his head and pressed his forehead to Jack's chest. 

“O-Oh, Jack, god I'm s-so sorry…”

_‘Would you like to hear what he said with his final breath?’_

Mark shook his head as he clung to the knife and Jack's cheek. “No, no. I couldn't stand it, his confused cries. No, I don't.”

_‘There was no confusion Mark. He knew it wasn't you.’_

Before Mark could protest, his vision was suddenly filled with a bleeding but very much alive Jack. He was struggling, and in obvious amounts of pain. 

_“M-Ma-ark-k,”_ he managed. _“I-I know this isn’t y-you. You’ll realize that s-soon enough. J-Just k-know…”_ At that point he reached up to cover Mark's hand with his. _“That I forgive you.”_

Jack then suddenly looked scared, and he sobbed. He stretched his arm to cup Mark's cheek before sobbing, _“L-Love you Mar-rk, a-always.”_

And then Mark got to watch him die.

 

The vision faded, and Mark took a shaky breath. There were no words, no expressions, for how he was feeling. All he could do was gently remove Jack's hand from his own, unsheathe the blade from Jack's chest and toss it aside, and then gingerly take his body into his arms.

He held him for a moment, just searching his face while he wept. Then Mark sank to the floor, and cradled Jack in his lap. The Irishman’s limp form was easy to hold onto, and Mark leaned back against a neighboring pillar. Jack's head slumped against his chest, and Mark couldn't help but bury his fingers in that soft green hair. 

“Fuck, Jack I'm so, so sorry,” Mark whispered. He started to weep again, and he buried his face his Jack's neck. Trying to comfort himself and perhaps even the man in his arms, he started to rock side-to-side. Mark couldn't help but murmur regretful and guilty nothings into Jack's cold skin.

 

And that was how Felix found them a few hours later. As soon as he caught sight of Mark, the dark-haired man had lifted his red and puffy eyes to meet Felix’s gaze. His lips trembled as he spoke.

“H-He loves me. Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> I think I enjoy killing characters too much ._.  
> Also, I think any fan art of this would be da bomb. Can you imagine? It would be so emotional ;-;
> 
> ~Cal


End file.
